


Color of Water

by AbsolutelyNothing



Category: Panic! at the Disco
Genre: M/M, Watersports
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-06
Updated: 2016-07-06
Packaged: 2018-07-21 20:25:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7402633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AbsolutelyNothing/pseuds/AbsolutelyNothing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Or,” Ian says, tapping his fingers against Brendon’s ankle. “Or you could stop avoiding the real reason you asked me up here in the first place, and let me piss on you.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Color of Water

**Author's Note:**

> I thought to myself, I really want to write some little!ian mommy kink. and I put my fingers to the keys and watersports came out instead.

“This is, potentially, the worst idea you’ve ever had,” Ian says as he slings his duffel bag onto the bed closest to the window. He twists the cap off his water bottle and takes a long drink, revelling in the feel of being so close to an actual bed, with an actual mattress, in an actual building and not on a bus that has started to feel like it’s about the size of a shoebox. Ian always forgets that about touring, until he’s actually on the bus. 

Behind him, Brendon snorts. “Potentially, it’s not even on the list. I’ve had like, way worse ideas than this. Like that time I was convinced that a shapeshifting tentacle monster was the perfect concept for a music video.”

Ian drains the water bottle, sets it on the nightstand.He carefully toes off his Converse and and frowns down at them. The rubber is starting to come away from the canvas, and they’ll be completely destroyed in a few weeks. He kicks them halfway under the bed. “I’m still not convinced that you weren’t just in love with the idea of making softcore hentai porn.”

Brendon flops back on the bed, his own shoes still on, the dirty soles facing towards Ian. “How many times do I have to insist that it wasn’t?” He asks, and Ian just shrugs at him. There’s no answer to that, because Ian’s convinced.

“If you wanted to have that conversation, you didn’t have to ask me to come back to our room. I was perfectly fine at Subway.” Ian sits down on his bed, and tries not to think about a nap. Brendon will kill him, and then they’ll have to replace their guitar player again, and Ian likes to think that his death would at least put a minor hiccup in the tour.

Brendon scratches at his stomach. “We could smoke up,” He says to the ceiling, completely ignoring Ian’s words. He reaches down with one hand, pulls his shoes off and lets them fall. He’s not wearing any socks.

Ian rolls the idea around in his brain, shakes his head. “Nah. I’m already like, half asleep, and if we get high, we’ll just end up making out on your bed until we both fall asleep.” Not that Ian’s not okay with that, normally, but tonight Brendon’s asked him for something more, and well. He’s had six bottles of water today, and he’d like for that effort not to be in vain.

The space between the beds is short, and when Brendon stretches his leg out, his toes poke into Ian’s thigh. “We could-” He starts again, and Ian reaches out, takes hold of Brendon’s ankle.

Brendon actually stops talking and tilts his head up to catch Ian’s gaze. “Or,” Ian says, tapping his fingers against Brendon’s ankle. “Or you could stop avoiding the real reason you asked me up here in the first place, and let me piss on you.”

Brendon’s face turns an interesting shade of red and he becomes incredibly interested in the ceiling again.

He’d come to Ian that morning, way too fucking early, flinging back the curtain to Ian’s bunk and holding a water bottle out to him without a single word, unable to meet Ian’s eyes. Ian had known immediately what that meant, that Brendon remembered what he’d said, what they’d both said when they’d smoked up all of Spencer’s stash in the back lounge at two in the morning.

It’s-strange, jarring, because Brendon’s always loud and incredibly confident about nearly everything he does around other people, even when he has no idea what the hell he’s doing. Seeing Brendon with that persona stripped away is-not rare, not exactly, but something that he hasn’t been treated to much of.

It makes something warm curl in Ian’s chest thinking that Brendon trusts him like that. It also got Ian half-hard before he’d even cracked the seal on the water bottle, but, whatever. Brendon doesn’t have to know about that, and he’s probably spent the day half-hard too, because he knew Brendon had been watching him, and he’d made sure Brendon saw him drinking, saw him emptying water bottle after water bottle, and then a large soda at Subway.

He’d been sucking air through the straw after he finished it, mostly to annoy Dallon, and that’s when Brendon had grabbed Ian’s wrist and announced that he really needed to go to sleep, and he didn’t need Ian coming in and waking him up later. Which was a flimsy excuse at best, and Ian’s certain none of them had any trouble deciphering it, not even the six year old at the next table who was methodically disassembling her sandwich.

And now they’re here.

In a hotel room in the middle of a some anonymous Midwestern city, in some anonymous Midwestern state, looking at each other across two beds. Minnesota? Michigan? Like Ian really cares when he hasn’t been to the bathroom all day and Brendon’s no longer looking at the ceiling, but glancing at him sideways, and all Ian can think about is how the bathroom is like, right there. They’re practically in it. Okay not in it, but really close to it. Fuck, Ian can’t think, a combination of lust and his very full bladder making his head swim.

Ian squeezes Brendon’s ankle. “We don’t have to,” He says, voice low. “Not if you really don’t want. But, uh. I’ve had like way too much to drink today, and I haven’t been near a toilet, so. If you’re gonna back out, do it fast, or you might end up getting a foot bath.”

Brendon laughs, startled, like it was pulled out of him. His foot flexes against Ian, but he doesn’t move out, and Ian can’t help the low groan that comes out, just at that. But Brendon doesn’t make fun of him, just sits up a little, props himself on his elbows. “Okay,” He says quickly, eagerly. Desperately.

Ian suddenly has to piss like ten times more than he did five seconds ago. “Fuck,” He mutters. “Not-no, I don’t want that, I want-all over you-” The words aren’t coming out, all jumbled in his brain, but Brendon’s just nodding at him like he gets exactly what Ian’s saying.

“Bathroom,” Brendon jerks his head towards the open door, the pressure of his foot leaving Ian’s thigh as he sits up on the bed. His hands are twisting in his lap, over and over each other, and he doesn’t stand up.

Ian thinks they might spend the rest of the night waiting for each other to make the first move, but his bladder throbs and he has to get a hand between his legs. “Oh, God,” He grits out, way more gone than he intended. It’s so much hotter in the room now, sweat sticking Ian’s hair to the back of his neck.

Brendon gasps, and rocks forward, one hand coming up to Ian’s, stopping just short of touching him. “Fuck. Did you-?” The end of the sentence is left hanging.

Ian flushes, can’t help it, shakes his head. “No, I-almost.” And he should be embarrassed, but he can’t be when Brendon looks positively wrecked and they’ve both still got their clothes on. “We have to-go.”

Brendon nods, keeps nodding, doesn’t stop nodding like he’s not even aware he’s doing it anymore. “Yeah, yes, Ian, you should-we have to-” and both of them seem to have lost their ability to speak in full sentences.

Ian grips Brendon’s wrist with one hand, keeps the other between his legs, and pulls himself up. The movement temporarily alleviates the pressure on his bladder, and he tugs at Brendon’s wrist until Brendon stands. Ian half walks-half drags Brendon to the bathroom, because Brendon might be taller, but Ian’s more determined.

Brendon has enough presence of mind to fumble for the lightswitch, and the sudden light leaves them both blinking, the fluorescent light harsh after the light of the setting  sun. Brendon bounces on the balls of his feet, like he’s the one who’s had a metric fuckton of liquid.

There’s a bathtub, the curtain stained at the bottom from use, and Ian drops Brendon’s hand, tugs it open. Normally Ian would lead with some foreplay, some making out, kissing at that spot on Brendon’s jaw that makes him whine while he gets his hands up Brendon’s shirt, but Ian’s got to pee more and more with every passing second, like that entire soda is all draining into his bladder right now.

Instead, he squeezes his thighs together and reaches for the hem of his shirt, pulling it off as fast as possible. He drops it on the floor, and when he glances up, Brendon’s just watching him, mouth hanging open.

“Come on,” Ian whines out, impatient, and Brendon blinks at him, startled, not moving. Ian makes a frustrated noise, his hands tugging his belt open. His hands are starting to shake from holding himself back, and it doesn’t help that they’re in the bathroom now, the toilet literally a foot away. “You have to get undressed. I can’t wait.”

Brendon’s eyes fly to Ian’s crotch, dark and wide, and Ian swears they narrow in disappointment when he sees that Ian has managed to hold on. “Fuck,” He breathes, and Brendon’s head whips up, red dusting his cheeks and oh, God, oh, fuck, Brendon  _ is _ disappointed, Brendon  _ wants _ Ian to wet himself, and Ian’s about to, he’s going to, he’s never been this desperate in his  _ life _ -

“Hurry up,” Ian yells, jamming both his hands between his legs. His jeans are halfway down his thighs, and his cock is half hard in his briefs, but it’s not going to do anything to stop him from pissing himself.

Brendon finally, mercifully gets the hint. They’ve both had years of practice changing, on tour buses and crowded backstage areas at venues, and Brendon’s tearing his shirt off, shoving his jeans down without unbuttoning them, a feat Ian would have considered impossible with how tight Brendon likes his clothes, and he’s not wearing underwear, so his cock comes up hard against his stomach, already leaking precome. “Sorry,” Brendon apologizes, kicking his jeans away. “Sorry, Ian, I’m sorry...”

Ian bounces in place, and he feels ridiculously like he’s doing some sort of insane squat workout. “Stop apologizing and get in the fucking tub,” He growls out, and Brendon’s eyes widen, maybe at Ian’s tone, maybe at how fucking gone Ian is, but Ian’s not about to apologize for either one.

Brendon climbs into the tub, lays himself out along the bottom of it. His eyes never leave Ian’s, dark and wide and blown with arousal, and Ian can’t tell the difference between the need to pee and lust anymore, it’s all part of the same feedback loop in his brain, and he wants to get a hand in his underwear to jerk off, but he can’t jerk off because he has to piss so bad, and that’s just making him want to jerk off more.

“Ian,” Brendon gasps out, and Ian grits his teeth, nodding. As fast as he can manage, he takes his hands out from between his thighs and gets his pants and briefs down around his ankles, but now his thighs are pressed so tightly together that Ian’s afraid he’s going to let go if he moves his thighs apart even a fraction. He groans, but he can’t just stand there forever, and he wants to piss on Brendon.

In the end, he doesn’t quite make it. He sinks his teeth into his lower lip and bends over, yanking his pants and underwear free from first one ankle, then the other, and he’s just preparing himself to step into the tub when his bladder gives out. The first trickle of piss comes without any hope of Ian stopping it, and he makes a desperate, awkward leap, his hands slamming into the side of the tub and gripping at the safety bar. Brendon stares up at him in shock, and Ian groans as his piss splashes onto Brendon’s thigh.

Brendon groans in response, spreads his legs as wide as he can in the narrow tub as Ian adjusts himself so he’s kneeling above Brendon, knees on either side of Brendon’s hips, and it’s lucky they’re both small.

Hot piss streams out over Brendon’s stomach and trickles down through the dark curls of his pubic hair. Brendon whimpers, fucking honest to God  _ whimpers _ , because Ian’s pissing on him, and Ian’s fantasized about this, late nights in his bunk and lazy afternoons at home, but he never imagined it’d be quite so heavenly.

“Oh, fuck, _Ian_ ,” Brendon cries out when Ian aims himself at Brendon’s cock, pee running in rivulets down to Brendon’s balls and pooling on the floor of the bathtub. Brendon’s hips rock up into it, the exact same way as when Ian strokes him off, and Ian moans.

“Do you think-oh, _fuck_ , if you could come just from this, just from me pissing on your cock-” Ian pants out. His arms shake where they’re braced above Brendon’s head on the wall.

Brendon keens. “Ian, oh _Jesus, Ian_ ,” He reaches up, gripping Ian’s thigh with one hand as he gets the other around his own cock, and it’s the hottest fucking thing Ian’s ever seen in his life, so much hotter than the way anyone ever looked in Ian’s fantasies. Brendon’s jerking off as Ian pees on his cock, and oh,  _ God _ . They have to do this again, they have to do this again  _ tonight _ , as soon as they can.

Ian tilts his hips up, piss spraying up Brendon’s chest, his skin wet and shiny and his nipples are so hard. Ian wants to pinch them, make Brendon arch up below him, but he can’t move his hands, and this is nearly as good anyway, watching Brendon rolls his hips up. He doesn’t stop jerking himself, and Ian moves back to Brendon’s cock when he’s thoroughly soaked Brendon’s torso.

He finishes himself off over Brendon’s cock, and it’s not until he’s completely finished that he realizes he’s moaning, the sound raw like he’s been doing it the entire time, and Ian’s not sure he hasn’t. He’s hard now, too, his cock flushed red.

Brendon’s watching him in something akin to awe. “Holy shit, Ian-” He chokes out when Ian catches his gaze and Ian wants to-he wants to hide himself away because he just  _ pissed _ all over Brendon and he wants to jerk off and come so bad he still can’t hardly think straight, and his hips rock uselessly into the air in his indecision. Brendon slides his hand up over Ian’s thigh and drags him down, catching Ian’s cock in his grip so he’s jerking them off together and that’s-

Ian’s eyes roll back in his head, because the slide of their cocks together is way slicker than it should be, and it shouldn’t feel so good, but it does, it feels amazing and Ian’s totally fucking spoiled, because just handjobs are never going to hold up ever again. “Brendon,” He groans. “Brendon, oh, oh, Jesus Christ, Brendon,” and he knows he’s babbling but he can’t stop, never wants it to stop, and then Brendon’s coming, hot against Ian’s cock and it’s so slippery his cock slides out of Brendon’s grasp but it doesn’t matter because Ian’s coming too, thick and hot all over Brendon’s hand and his cock.

He slumps down, panting hard, acutely aware of Brendon’s harsh breathing. Discomfort prickles his skin and a big part of Ian wants to climb out of the tub and run away, but the hotel room is really fucking small and there’s still piss running down Ian’s thighs. It’s a little humiliating, and Ian’s prepared to be kicked out of the band now, because he’s only a touring guitarist anyway, and this isn’t his first band, hell, it’s not even the second, and Ian can handle it, and he’s working himself up so nicely in his head that he actually forgets Brendon is there until Brendon starts to giggle underneath him.

Ian blinks, draws back, just to check that he hasn’t gone fucking insane, but Brendon’s face is scrunched up, and he’s giggling, like he does sometimes when the high is really good. Ian eyes him. “Did you like, get high from my piss?” He asks, which is quite possibly the dumbest thing he’s ever said, but whatever. It would happen to Ian.

Brendon shakes his head. “You’re just-you’re really freaking yourself out up there, Ian.” He pats Ian’s arm. “It’s not a big deal,” He says, and then his face tightens. “It’s not a big deal, is it?” He asks, tucking his head down slightly, and it’s that, the insecure vulnerability, that manages to snap Ian out of his headspace.

“No! No, I mean, it’s not, no-I really liked it,” He settles on, finally, and he sounds like a fucking idiot, but Brendon’s smiling at him again so it doesn’t matter too much.

“I really liked it, too,” Brendon says. “We should-do it again.”

Ian nods fervently. “Yeah, yes. Definitely.” He realizes he’s still nodding and has to remind himself to stop. He liked it better when Brendon was the one that couldn’t get himself together.

“Good,” Brendon says, and shifts beneath Ian. He wrinkles his nose. “Okay, no offense, but. My skin is so sticky now. I feel like I bathed in Kool-Aid.”

“Don’t drink the Kool-Aid,” Ian murmurs, an automatic response, and then flushes when Brendon’s eyes widen. “Shit. I didn’t mean-”

Brendon just yanks him down by the arm, cutting Ian’s stutters off with his lips. It’s sloppy, but sweet, and he’s just starting to relax into it, his head clearing, when Brendon murmurs, “Maybe next time.”

**Author's Note:**

> you can now find me at [cobrakink.tumblr.com](http://cobrakink.tumblr.com)


End file.
